


Noises Of The Damned

by yourrockyspine



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 05:44:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16320218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourrockyspine/pseuds/yourrockyspine
Summary: A fun night out ends in a near death experience for Merlin.He's grateful to wake up in hospital, expected to make a full recovery.But his "full recovery" has some side effects. Primarily, he can't seem to touch people without seeing flashes of their deepest past traumas.Was he grateful too soon, or might this be a calling?





	Noises Of The Damned

**Author's Note:**

> aka "my story that's vaguely inspired by Stephen King's _The Dead Zone_ and every other novel or film based on this type of story that's been told a thousand times before (and usually much better than this)"
> 
> BUT IT'S GOT MERLIN IN IT. So there's that.
> 
> [See End Notes for possible TWs.]

_Merlin Emrys hadn't got into the grueling, thankless world of social work to earn a respectable living. He wasn't an idiot._

_In fact, he'd cemented his decision after a night on the town with his uni mates._

_What started as close friends gathering to celebrate their graduation had turned into an epic falling-out where unforgivable words were spoken, topped off by a bloody horror show that nearly ended in death._

_But at least he got a job out of it._

***

The night after graduation, when Merlin and his closest uni friends had gathered in a seedy pub to celebrate their future endeavours as well as the end of an exhausting final year, was looking to be a blast.

Gwaine had got there ahead of time and lined up a truly mortifying row of fireball shots. Slightly more unnerving was the fact that many of the shot glasses were empty, having already been consumed by the man in question.

Merlin arrived next, Gwen in tow, and both regarded the spectacle in dismay.

"You know, my brother's an EMT but I'm not gonna bother him with this," said Gwen. "So think twice before you down your next shot, pretty boy."

Gwaine just smirked lazily. "Sad to hear you're wearing knickers, Guinevere, but you may nevertheless untwist them. I have _so many_ medical emergency kits on me, at all times."

"I know you think you're bragging, but all I'm feeling right now is horror mixed with crushing sadness."

Gwaine looked at Merlin as if to say 'birds, amirite', but Merlin just shook his head mock-sadly. "I came here to have fun and kick back, and instead I'll be composing your eulogy in my head. Bad move, son."

Gwen squeezed his elbow, a little habit of theirs whenever one defended the other's viewpoint (which was basically always, being that they were the Sensible Ones in their group).

"Don't go calling people 'son', Merlin. You don't have the cred and you look like a 12-year-old 17th century milkmaid."

"Still more street than you are. How's the family estate, Lord Gwaine?"

Gwen had just enough time to jump back with an undignified screech as Gwaine launched himself at Merlin and put him in a headlock.

"What was that, you little Dickensian shit? Hmm?"

Merlin just guffawed smugly under the assault. Gwaine was the penultimate posh boy pretending to be a down-on-his-luck couch crasher, and he'd never let him forget it.

"Can we pause the foreplay and sit at our table like the functional adults we're supposed to be at this point? I'm a bloody _graduate_ now and I've been doing so many victory laps today, my legs could use a break. As well as my eyes; don't know if you've got a boner there, Gwaine, but I have my suspicions."

Gwen stood there with her chin raised and her hands on her hips, and not for the first time did Merlin wonder if the reason he loved her so much was that she was basically a younger version of his mother.

"Yes, mum." Seemed Gwaine felt it, too.

Gwen and Merlin scooched into the booth and each knocked back a fireball. They were just gearing up to lay into Gwaine again - it was simply too much fun - when a surprisingly frazzled-looking Morgana walked up to them.

"Horrible graduation dinner with the pater, just dreadful, I need booze."

She swallowed one of the shots before spluttering and gagging, her delicate features contorted with disgust. " _Cinnamon_?! Fat load of good you lot are. Merlin, snookums, move over and let me absorb your warmth."

Morgana was about to drape herself across Merlin (and he _knew_ those entitled octopus arms would cling to him for as long they wanted) before she changed her mind and tried to squeeze herself inbetween him and Gwen.

"Never mind, I need both of you lovelies to warm me up. I walked all the way from the mansion of doom to get here and right now my outsides are cold enough to match what's on the inside."

"You walked all the way here?!" Gwen asked, and Merlin thought it explained why Morgana looked so uncharacteristically disheveled.

"Yes, well, what can I say? After a stilted dinner with Uther Pendragon, calling a cab seems futile. I needed the 45 minutes to stifle my rage."

"If there's any of that rage left in you, I know of another way to-"

"Gwaine, I swear, finish that sentence and I'm ripping your head clear off your neck and putting it up on the uni flag pole for everyone to spit at."

"Fair enough, Lady Morgana, fair enough. Allow me to make up for my chauvinism by ordering you a... don't tell me... Blue Lagoon?"

At this, Morgana slumped back into her seat and the arms she'd thrown around Merlin and Gwen's shoulders loosened a bit, much to the relief of her hostages. "Guessed right, scoundrel, so get on with it, chop chop."

Not even Gwaine was thick enough to argue with Morgana's legendary wave of dismissal.

Gwen regarded Morgana curiously. "So if you're here now, and you walked all this way, where's Arthur? He wouldn't deign to walk anywhere if he didn't have to."

Morgana snorted. "Got that right, the lazy bastard. I assume he's still at the house, where I left him, furiously apologising for my unladylike behaviour or whatever amount of boot licking will get Father off his back for the rest of the night."

Merlin had been expecting this, but his insides still clenched a bit. He and Arthur got together earlier that year and while it may still be early to start making demands, it wasn't too unreasonable to want to spend graduation night with your boyfriend, was it?

Picking up on his mood, Morgana grabbed his face in that way she thought was affectionate but was actually bloody excruciating.

"You put that sad little face back where it belongs, pup; at uni, where our morals, too, have been stored tonight. You know you're going to get a text at midnight asking where you are. It'll probably say something like 'you up', and he'll sneak out of the house and into your flat, and whatever happens after that I'd rather not imagine for the sake of my sanity, but for now you're with us and you're going to be fun. Got it?"

Merlin gaped at her a while, trying to do as she'd demanded, then asked, "What sanity?"

Finally, Morgana freed his face from her torturous claw and sat back with a smirk. "There he is."

The last member of their modest party entered, as usual, to a cacaphony of curses and shattered glass.

By the time she reached their booth, Elena was drenched in various drinks and what appeared to be globs of mayonnaise in her hair, but the young woman looked chipper as ever.

"Sorry I'm late, so good to see you all, had a bit of a run-in with a bus driver."

Which the whole group chose to interpret as "hysterically called out my destination by the time the bus had already passed it and made the driver contemplate switching careers". It was the Elena way of doing things, after all.

"Seems you had a run-in with a chip shop, three pubs and a couple of trees, too, love," Gwen said, eyes wide. Elena just smiled happily and shrugged, like this was just the way things were, and she had a point there. The woman was a walking neon sign of danger.

Morgana set about meticulously ridding her friend's hair of condiments as Gwaine returned, brandishing a vibrantly blue drink and offering it to Morgana with an exaggerated bow.

"My lady, pardon me once more for being the harbinger of toxic masculinity and-"

"You've been gone for 10 minutes while I had to make do with these horrid shots. So shut up, sit down, and keep tending to your female overlords," snapped Morgana, before returning to the task of not quite gently clearing poor Elena of the smorgasbord of food and drinks tangled in her hair and clothes.

Gwaine's eyes met Merlin's. "Can't live with 'em, am I right?"

As the group's one of two Designated Gays, this happened far too often where Gwaine was concerned. And Merlin was the lone victim of these groan-worthy moments. He wouldn't pull this kind of shite with Arthur; he'd get a punch to the liver before the words were even out, and his liver took more than enough punches from the booze already. 

Merlin chanced a raised eyebrow at Gwen, who was ready for him as always.

"Ill-bred lotharios, am I right?" Gwen giggled as Merlin continued to gently poke her in the ribs, all the while relishing in Gwaine's stricken facial expression at having lost a presumed ally.

Morgana, too, was in his corner (Elena would've been, too, but she was very busy trying not to wince at Morgana's long nails poking at her tender scalp).

"Awful brave whenever Arthur's not around, aren't you, Gwaine?"

Gwaine snorted. "The Princess and I have an understanding."

"Meaning you got gobby with him, he decked you one, and you decided to lay off the queer jokes for your own safety."

"That's the one, ma'am."

Morgana, having finally given up on trying to make Elena look moderately presentable, met Merlin's eyes with a wicked smirk.

"All these years and he still doesn't seem to realise we're only keeping him around for the free drinks. But really, _have_ you tried just knocking him out?"

"Merlin's a lover, not a fighter," Elena said, well-intentioned as always but utterly clueless at to how much further incentive for gay innuendo this gave Gwaine.

Thank God for Morgana, who looked the man dead in the eye and held up a hand. "Anything you say right now that's not directed at me, and isnt 'please, ma'am, may I have another?', I promise you your hair gets it. There's a stiletto in my purse that's just begging for a proper go."

Gwaine was lounging in his seat, sipping a mojito as his eyes drifted merrily across the table, cheeky smirk in place, before putting down his cocktail, resting his elbows on the table and looking around his group of friends. Eventually, he read the room and his eyes bulged.

"Say fucking _what now_?!"

***

Two hours later, when the banter and meaningless conversation had dwindled down, Gwaine got up from his seat and rapped a tea spoon against his whisky glass.

"Ladies 'n slightly less of ladies," he slurred, and Merlin cared _nothing_ for the way Gwaine's eyes zoned in on him.

"Methinks it's time to express our appreciation with a toast. We're all of us dumb enough to fail, but whaddayaknow... _we didn't_! So in celebration of our obviously understated genius, I propose we each give a toast for... like... our futures and all that junk."

Morgana's eyes rolled back into her head. "Yes, very eloquently put, truly the words of a man who deserved to graduate. But I will agree to speeches and toasts."

Merlin was beginning to sweat under his clothes. He'd never been good at public speaking and no amount of delicious cinnamon shots and greasy chips could change his ways. He sat back and sealed his lips, determined not to speak until everyone else had.

Under the table, Gwen squeezed his hand, eyes gentle and head giving a subtle shake as if to tell him he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to. Having Gwen to remind him of that was 70% of what got him through the uni experience safely and he gave her a warm smile, eternally grateful for his amazing friend.

Every single member of the small but tight-knit group proceeded to get up and raise a toast to the future.

And that's when things started to go South.

"Here's to leeching off of my folks for the rest of my life, because _they know what they did_ ," announced Gwaine, thrusting his pint so far into the air that he'd hardly any beer left to consume. "And if they refuse to support me, no matter: I've set up a neat little Craigslist account where I promise to sell booze half-price, peddle used panties left by previous conquests, and, if I'm really hard up: the chance to spend a night in my swell company."

Next up was Morgana; the drunkest member of the group, yet somehow still the most composed. "Here's to making the most of my trust fund without having to lift a single manicured finger. And should I blow through my savings faster than necessary: may I never wind up joining Gwaine in his future Craigslist endeavours and instead make the noble choice of becoming an unhinged bag lady screeching at random passersby on the tube station."

Elena got up from her seat, rather shakily, and that was definitely the sound of a chair being knocked over. "Here's to moving back to Daddy's horse farm and speaking to the blasted beasts until I'm a certified Horse Whisperer. After that: reality TV, my friends, see you on NatGeo!"

After expelling a belch so loud it startled even the drunkest patrons, she plonked back down (on a seat that was no longer there) so Gwen could have the floor.

Gwen leveled a firm and disapproving look at her mates. "Here's to actually working for what I've got and securing a spot at a respectable firm that may not pay as much as I'd hoped, but will hopefully open my mind to a wealth of knowledge and empathy. Oh, yes: I'm training to become a liscenced therapist... just FYI for anyone who rudely ignored me these past three years."

At that, everyone groaned excessively, and murmurs of 'goody-two-shoes' and 'bleeding heart' were generously tossed around.

Gwen, being Gwen, ignored them all, chin lifted proudly. She had her principles, and she'd be damned if she let a bunch of drunken trust-fund-babies ridicule her for wanting to make the world a better place.

That's when Merlin got up, intending to raise his pint but promptly sending it flying across the pub and drenching the walls in beer as well as shards of glass. Good start.

He ignored the disgruntled bartender in favour of his speech.

"Here's to Gwen: noble where the rest of you aren't. Ambitious, where the rest of you live off of family coin. Empathetic and hard-working, where the rest of you merrily piss away your undeserved funds and contribute fucking nothing to the world."

Okay, so perhaps Merlin was just a teensy bit of a confrontational drunk. He adored his friends, he did, but sometimes his poverty-stricken, scholarship arse felt the bitterness something fierce. He was even lower on the totem pole than Gwen, who may have been working class, but at least her father's secret savings had secured her a place at Camelot University.

Which wasn't to say Merlin begrudged her that: Gwen was smart as a whip, dedicated to making the world a better place for the underprivileged, and worked harder at her studies than any of them put together; Merlin included. She made Hermione Granger look like the lazy cousin who never moved out of her parents's basement.

Gwen's dad, Tom Smith, was a masterful welder, who tended to scrape by unappreciated in spite of his talent. But the old man was creative enough to occasionally land an assignment from a wealthy, pretentious prick hoping to one-up his wealthy pretentious prick friends by showing off his newly-acquired, one-of-a-kind designs, meticulously crafted by a man that none of his friends had even heard of.

He doubted the jumped-up knobs even bothered to mention Tom's name in the midst of their bragging, ooh-ing, and aah-ing.

For Tom, who had next to nothing, to save up those earnings to secure his daughter's schooling was - in Merlin's opinion - as noble as a man could be. And Gwen deserved it: even if it weren't for her dad's savings account, Merlin had no doubt she'd have got in on a scholarship the way he had, and probably a year sooner if she'd tried.

But for the rest of his mates... Merlin loved each and everyone of them so much, he truly did, but their attitudes towards money and hard labour just further solidified how little they had in common at the end of the day.

Perhaps it was the numerous vodka shots, fireballs and bottomless pints of lager. Perhaps it had been a long time coming. Certainly it was the gnawing lack of his boyfriend's steady presence at his side, as well as having to watch his best friend being carelessly mocked just for wanting to do what's right as well as work for her money. 

Either way, Merlin's annoyance levels had risen to the lands of reddened vision and throbbing forehead vein.

And thus, when it was his turn to make a toast, he'd foregone the positivity, jokes and well-wishes, and instead set out to humiliate his small group of friends.

***

After Merlin's impassioned (and, who was he kidding here: embittered) rant, the table had fallen silent.

Gwen reached out to squeeze Merlin's elbow, eyes brimming with understanding, sympathy and warmth. As well as the unspoken promise to stay with him tonight and hold the bucket as he threw up everything he'd ever consumed.

Elena, whose eyes were shining with not-for-long unshed tears, was the first to try and splutter a few awkward words of remorse. "Merlin... I never meant- Oh God, I'm such a dick talking like this when you have nothing. Oh, fuck, that's not what I meant to say, you have plenty, it's just I _know_ you had to work harder to get where you are and we're just sitting here sounding so ungrateful. Please, please forget I said anything."

And part of Merlin wanted so badly to just say "Forget it, it's not your fault", but that had been his problem all along. His rich friends may treat him as an equal, but he never truly was, and the reality hit him hard now. At the end of the day it didn't matter how lovely Elena was: she was still richer than anyone he'd ever known, and she just wouldn't get it. Not completely.

Next up was Gwaine. "Mate, you know I didn't mean anything by it. I may come from money, but my family's a bunch of plonkers. I just want to milk them for all they're worth, is all. Most likely I'll end up every bit as poor as you when all's said and done."

If the looks directed at Gwaine from all sides of the table could kill, the man would've dissolved on the spot.

"What? What'd I say?"

Which, Merlin thought, was the problem with Gwaine: he was a rich kid pretending to be slumming it, and he figured that was enough to put him down there with the poor kids.

Morgana, who had been looking contemplative since Merlin's outburst, lifted her bright green eyes from the table to meet his and spoke as if to calm a spooked horse.

"Merlin, you know how fond I am of you. Even if it hadn't been for... what happened just now, I was always willing to share half of my proceeds with you. Come on, you're more of a little brother to me than my actual little brother. What's mine is yours."

It had been Morgana's words more than anyone's that cut Merlin to the bone. Ever since their first Chemistry partnership, they'd been as thick as thieves. Morgana, despite her unbelievable wealth, had never treated Merlin like a lesser, and in fact she'd wormed her way into his heart; turning to him for advice and sharing her most closely-guarded secrets.

To go up against Morgana after all they'd been through felt like a betrayal. But even she, at the end of the day, did not get it. He didn't want money for nothing, he wanted a career. He wanted a sense of earning his place in the world. All of these people had such glorious prospects ahead of them and would probably never bother to look at them twice, and Merlin... Merlin could only hope for someone to overlook his background and give him a shot at something honest.

It had never been clearer to him than it was right now: he was the poor kid who always had to be just that little bit better at succeeding than the rest of his friends. Even just to get into the bloody university that brought them so close together. And here they were, taking their privileges for granted.

Merlin got up from his seat, put on his coat, and ignored his mates shouting his name as he walked out the pub, wanting to return to his flat and forget that any of this had ever happened.

His drunken, muddled brain vaguely registered Gwen's voice calling after him and _fuck he should never have left her behind_ and the fact that he had only made him feel more ashamed and terrible and so he walked faster.

He was so caught up in the chaos of his thoughts, he never even registered the cars honking wildly or the deafening screeching of tyres.

***

_"Alright, lad, you're alright, just keep very still."_

_Flashing lights, high-pitched sirens, straps secured to every tangible part of his body._

_Morgana's beautiful, pale face hovering over his; awash with tears and horror._

_The sound of her voice, all traces of defiance and confidence removed:_

_"No, no, Merlin, please don't move, please. Hold still, we're going to get you sorted. Listen to the medics, alright sweetheart? Please stop moving."_

_A conglomeration of unfamiliar faces dressed in uniforms of some sort, hovering over him and asking him questions he didn't know the answer to._

_"How you holding up, lad?"_

_"Just you keep still, alright?"_

_"Where do you hurt the most?"_

_"Who should we call?"_

_Then Morgana's voice again, a gentle whisper close to his ear, "Sweetie, whatever happens, none of it matters, we're all here and we're not leaving your side, just hold on please, please hold on."_

_A slender hand squeezing his._

_The sense of being lifted and disappearing to parts unknown._

_Merlin understood nothing, nothing at all._

***

Merlin's dreams had transported him to a land of platypuses... Platypi? It didn't seem to matter in this land of extraordinary creatures; half-duck, half-beaver. Full-awesome.

He'd never been much of a swimmer before, but his strange bird/mammal companions taught him precisely how to make his way through perilous rivers, as well as avoid the snapping beaks of crocodiles.

Platypus-Merlin had just caught a crayfish for dinner when suddenly a series of beeps distracted him from matters at hand.

***

_"Merlin... You with us, boy?"_

Merlin was able to register the words, but all the same he felt angry enough to swat wildly at whomever had rudely snatched him from his beautiful platypus dreamland.

"No... Leave... I HAD A FISH! Leave me where I was."

Whoever was currently trying to destroy Merlin's hopes and dreams was shining a light into his eyes and trying to lure him back to the real world... A world that never suited Merlin to begin with and _fuck this old bastard trying to seperate him from his platypus family._

The next thing he registered was a positively ancient-looking eye accompanied by an elevated eyebrow. _Ooh, serious-looking doctor, can't have that, not now._

"Merlin? You in there, boy? Come on, now. You're alright, just take a deep breath and come back to us; we're here, waiting for you."

Merlin squinted at the older man in front of him and mumbled "...nuh," before passing out again.

***

The first thing Merlin felt when he awoke was pain: pure, unadulterated pain as if he'd been flattened by a vengeful monster truck driven by Satan himself.

Then there was the memory of him spewing venom at his closest friends of four years and making a complete arse of himself because being poor and self-pitying and drunk apparently turned him into King Knob of the Bell-Endia monarchy.

_Oh, wonderful; well done, you sack of month-old garbage juice. Way to show your gratitude to the best mates you ever had. If the platypus colony had known of this, they never would've adopted me into their midst._

The throbbing in Merlin's head was threatening to take him out once and for all, and he tried to curl up into the fetal position, only to find his movements restricted and his whole body a wasteland of pain.

Merlin's distress sent something a-beeping and a young nurse entered the room, fiddling with Merlin's stats before pressing a gloriously cool hand to his forehead. "Alright... Alright now, lad, I've upped your dosage and the pain will be gone very soon. There you go... see, you're fine, just need a kip."

_Sleep_ , Merlin thought happily. _That's where the platypus friends are. Friendly, friendly._

But before he could fade away into that wonderful world, this time hopefully forever, something went wrong. The nurse brushed one more tender hand across his forehead, and he was somewhere else altogether.

Somewhere that didn't feel warm, dizzying and welcoming like the platypus realm. Something entirely opposite to that.

***

_An old man hangs his head in shame as a gang of faceless men condemn him to death by drowning._

_His final words carry an edge of desperation._

_"My girl... My little girl..."_

_The men have no remorse. This isn't the first time they've orphaned some kid. Fucker costs them money, fucker dies. Case closed. They shove him off the cliff and ignore his terrified screams on the way down._

_They didn't realise he meant his little girl had followed him out and witnessed the whole thing._

***

Merlin, trapped between the land of sleep and reality, grabbed his nurse by the arm and looked her straight in the eye.

"Sefa... your Dad, 'm so sorry."

As the nurse's eyes widened, Merlin slipped back into oblivion.

***

" _Merlin_... Sweet boy, come back to me."

At the sound of those gentle words, Merlin tried to open his eyes and rejoin the land of the living.

Everything hurt, and he felt as if he'd been knocked over by a sturdy car. Which, he remembered, was just about what happened to him.

"...mum?"

Hunith Emrys carded a gentle hand through her boy's hair, warmly smiling down at him.

"Don't you worry now, lamb, it's all gonna be okay..."

Merlin's eyes drifted shut under his mother's gentle ministrations, and then a sharp ache lanced through his skull and he was transported back to that world again. The world that felt cold and cruel and bitter and had no platypi.

_"Balinor, for the love of- work with me here!"_

_"Chrissakes, Hunith, how d'you expect me to support a kid?!"_

_"And who said anything about you! If you're such a wee babe, don't worry, I'll take care of our child my bloody self cause I sure know what it's like to raise one!"_

_The man turned away in shame, remorse in his eyes. Nevertheless he picked up his bag and walked out the door._

Merlin could sense his mum's worried eyes on him, her hands trying helplessly to shake him out of his trance, but she needn't have bothered. He passed back out.

***

The next time Merlin woke up, he was on his own and feeling more in control of himself than he had before.

He tried his best to recall what happened to him.

A) He'd been out drinking with his mates.  
B) He'd gone off on his mates (and boy, what a twat he'd been).  
C) He'd taken off in a huff and got hit by a car.

Those were the basics. But there were bits and pieces of his hospital stay that worried him. He had a vague recollection of people touching him, and then... a wealth of information threatening to split his aching head in two.

_Goddamnit!_ Why couldn't he make sense of these memories?

He knew he probably hadn't been swimming with marvellous waterbeasts, but the other dreams were different. They didn't feel like dreams, for one. But what else could they possibly have been? He'd been in this room the whole time.

As Merlin's despair threatened to tear him apart, a slender figure made its way to his bedside.

"Merlin?"

It took him a while to place the frail, insecure voice; primarily because Morgana Pendragon never sounded frail or insecure.

Lost for words, he simply gazed up into the clear green eyes peering into his, frantic with worry, allowing her dearly familiar face to ground him to reality.

"I'm so glad you're alive. We were such ungrateful drunken losers that night and I just... The thought of you dying without ever knowing just how much we care for you, it would've destroyed me."

A tear rolled down Morgana's pale cheek, and Merlin reached out to wipe it away with a trembling hand.

For the third time since he'd been hospitalised, a tiny shock ran through his body.

_"What is the meaning of this?!"_

_A middle-aged man hulked over a teenage girl curled up in the fetal position._

_Tears streamed down her cheeks, eyes squeezed shut, breathing laboured as she gasped, "I don't know, father, I don't know how it got there. A friend must've left it."_

_The older man shook a box of asperin in the young girl's face._

_"Have you sinned?"_

_Not asperin, Merlin realised. Birth control._

_"No, no! I swear, I have no idea how those got in my room! You know how many sleepovers I have, it could've been any of them. Daddy, please!"_

Merlin tore his hand away from Morgana's cheek as fast as lightning, though nothing about the woman's face indicated that she'd seen what he had.

"M'gana..."

"Sssh, Merlin, just you rest now, it's all going to be alright."

_"...not a sinner... dad's wrong..."_

Merlin drifted off, but not before hearing Morgana's startled gasp.

***

**8 MONTHS LATER**

Merlin's alarm went off at 7 in the morning. He got up, stretched, and sat at the edge of his bed. His bones ached, even after 6 months of intensive physical therapy (the first 2 had been a joke compared to what followed and he had not seen that coming).

He did his morning exercises, showered, then treated himself to a massive bowl of puffed quinoa and vanilla yoghurt. For the hell of it, he added a massive dollop of whipped cream.

Today was a special day: a brand new patient, his first _ever_! A person relying on his expertise.

The thought was terrifying, but more than anything Merlin felt envigorated.

Merlin hopped on the tube and got off on the platform nearest to his patient's address. 

All he knew in advance was that said young woman went by the name of Freya Lake, she suffered from a case of severe case of anxiety disorder, and she hadn't left the house in months.

Most significantly: she'd so far refused to open up to anyone about her reasons. Merlin had some trouble convincing his employers that he was the man for the job - primarily because he'd only just landed it - but he knew how to write a meticulous report, and he'd sworn to his special brand of expertise.

Boy, that had been putting it mildly.

Having reached his destination, Merlin rang the bell and enjoyed the whimsical whale noises greeting him in return. He loved a good surprise doorbell.

He was greeted by a sliver of a face wedged between a door and a bolt and chain. "Who's this?"

"Merlin from Camelot Cares, ma'am, loving the whales!" he grinned.

The door slammed in his face - not for the first time - for the woman on the other side to dislodge the bolt and chain (definitely one of the only times).

"Hi, of course, I'm Freya, c'mon in, the place is a pigsty, so sorry."

Freya was practically tripping over her words and Merlin did his best to put her at ease.

"No worries there, I grew up on a farm so I've seen many a literal pigsty: your humble abode resembles nothing of the sort."

Freya's tight smile morphed into something rather more natural and curious. "You grew up on a farm?"

Merlin nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, ma'am. Bit of a culture shock when I got to the big city of Camelot, but yup: Ealdor Farms, born and bred, a place so obscure not even my Welsh mates can locate it on a map!"

He toed off his shoes and followed Freya into the living room.

The young woman trembled with nerves. "Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee?"

Desperate to put his first official client at ease, Merlin waved her off. "No bother, but get yourself whatever helps. I'm not here to grill you, I promise."

Freya made herself comfortable in a large beanbag chair, much to Merlin's delight.

"Quite a chair you've got there. That your special relaxation spot, then?"

She went brighter than a fire truck. "A bit, I suppose... I get so nervous all the time, it's nice to have the one spot where I can just be me, everyone else be damned."

Realising how candid she'd been, Freya began to disappear even further into herself, so Merlin made sure to put a stop to that.

"Sounds like an excellent idea, Freya. I worry all the time over nothing, so I should probably look into one of these spots myself. Me, I've always loved those egg-shaped chairs, y'know the ones I'm talking about?"

Freya's posture relaxed a bit, and she smiled sincerely. "One of those hanging chairs? I love those."

"Exactly! That's the first thing I'm buying myself if I make any progress with you over the months. So tell me, Freya: you gonna get me a hanging egg chair, or what?"

The formerly cautious woman huffed a laugh of surprise, and the session was in motion.

***

Merlin staggered into his flat, exhausted after the day's work he'd had.

Freya had been lovely: a quiet, blushing, but secretly-sassy gem of a lady. She'd dealt with many a trauma she wasn't ready to talk about, but that didn't matter to Merlin. One single handshake and he'd got the gist.

_"Mummy! Please, mummy, help me!"_

_"I'm sorry, baby, mummy doesn't have the money to take care of you. But don't you worry, don't you worry now: the people at the Fair, they're going to take such good care of you! And next thing you know, baby girl, we'll be back together."_

_The men fastened the chains around the little girl crying for her mummy, and the cart began to move._

At the end of the session, Merlin didn't know how he'd made it all the way back to his living room couch, nor did he know where all those tears came from; all he knew was how miserable and tired he felt.

***

_Merlin dreamt he was a sea cucumber, gorging itself on sea garbage, preparing to excrete something altogether more useful to the underwater universe. His friends, the other sea cucumbers, wiggled their bodies in approval of his hard labour._

A series of knocks rudely seperated him from his deep sea explorations, and Merlin shot up in a panic.

When the knocks refused to die down, Merlin went up to his door and pressed the buzzer. "Who dis?"

"It's Morgana Pendragon, and thank you for the kind greetings."

Growling under his breath, Merlin - still half-sea cucumber in his mind - buzzed the blasted woman up. Just what you'd want in the morning when you're out of your skull without the booze to appreciate it: a close friend who used her full name to announce her presence. Every single goddamned time.

Leaving his door wide open, Merlin plopped back onto his couch. It wasn't long until Morgana joined him, a corner of her mouth twitching in distaste/amusement.

"Well, Merlin, that's just splendid. Truly a welcome unlike any I've ever experienced."

Merlin scowled at her from the one eye he was willing to open.

"Fuck you want, Morgana Pendragon?"

Morgana looked every bit like she'd been challenged to bite into a lemon and a jalapeño simultaneously. But Merlin was beat after his session with Freya and he could always count on Morgana to bulldoze past a bit of grump and snark; she'd spent a lifetime with Arthur, she could deal.

"Lovely! Just lovely. My request concerns something rather... delicate. Concerning your oddo mystical shite."

Merlin's eyebrows skyrocketed. "My... _oddo mystical shite_?"

Morgana rolled her eyes and waved him off as if he were nothing but a persistent mosquito on a camping trip.

"Whatever the bloody hell you call the powers you gained after prancing off in a strop and getting yourself hit by a car like the pathetic drama queen you are."

"...a delicate matter, you said?" snarled Merlin, unwilling to have this conversation again.

"Oh, piss off, Merlin! I wouldn't've come to you if I thought I could handle this myself."

Well, if she was confessing to not being able to handle things, it must be a genuine emergency. 

Merlin slumped back down and motioned for Morgana to continue. "Forego the sass and tell Uncle Merlin what's wrong."

"Hear me out before you say no," she said hesitantly.

"Off to a smashing start."

"It... I'll just come right out with it: it concerns my brother."

Well, shit. 

***

Merlin hadn't seen Arthur in about 6 months, around the time he was getting ready for his personal physical therapy hell and leaving the flat and looking for jobs. With Gwaine and Elena moving back to their parents's estates, this left only Gwen and Morgana of the original team.

He'd long made up with Gwaine and Elena after the accident, and in the end they'd all said their goodbyes a bit morosely, but mainly full of hope for the future. Arthur, though...

Christ, that one hurt.

Things had not ended on a very good note. Scratch that, they ended on a note so miserable it could've produced a full album of brand new Smiths songs that still didn't capture how miserably things had ended.

There had been no anger, no screaming fights, not even one of them falling out of love with the other. And that was the worst part.

They'd still been arse over teakettle for each other, perhaps even more so after Merlin had the accident and Arthur refused to leave his side, showing a level of his devoted and caring side not even Merlin knew he had in him.

Unfortunately, that had been the problem. His little brain zaps, as Merlin liked to call them, didn't happen everytime someone touched him, but very infrequently. And Arthur had never been so tactile as he had those two months he'd looked after Merlin.

If he'd just had the one experience, he could've worked past it. But Arthur had a wealth of trauma in his past that Merlin had known nothing about, and it threatened to break him.

The unpredictability of his powers made it worse; he never knew when to let his guard down and enjoy the moment. Things would be fine for days, and he'd spend all his time cuddled up to Arthur on the couch, casually touching him at random moments, making love through the night. Merlin would be on cloud nine and then, one day, he'd reach out to innocently squeeze Arthur's hand and there it was again: a look into how truly miserable his boyfriend had been over the years.

Seeing the person you love hurt _so much_ , over and over, it was unbearable. Merlin's mind threatened to crack under the pressure and instead of being in the moment with his beautiful boyfriend, he found himself constantly searching the other man's face for traces of secret pain and looming depression.

Merlin was becoming more and more withdrawn, his physical health taking a turn for the worse as his mental health dwindled down to practically nothing. After all that work to get better, he was beginning to collapse.

It was a rotten thing to do and he'd known it, still knew it, and he felt it every second of every day, like the world's cruelest missing limb. But he broke it off with Arthur. If he wanted any chance to leave his bed ever again instead of being transfered to one inside a care home, indefinitely, he had to.

The only good thing about the whole situation was the way he'd gone about it: convincing Arthur over and over that he needed time to himself to recover from everything, and he didn't want to become cruel to Arthur as the pain worsened. It wasn't a lie, and it was the right thing to do. The love and understanding on Arthur's face, mixed with the sadness and despair in his eyes, was the last thing Merlin saw before he went to bed and the first when he woke up. 

His body had healed over time, as had his mind. His heart, however, had gone to shit, and he doubted he was ever getting it back to its proper state.

***

So lost was Merlin in his thoughts that he'd forgotten about his good friend who'd desperately come for his help and who was now reaching for her purse and preparing to leave. _Want to lose another Pendragon, idiot?_

"So sorry, Morgana. I'll do it."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I haven't even told you anything yet."

Merlin shrugged. "It's Arthur."

Slowly, she sank back down onto the couch and nodded, as if that explained everything. And didn't it, really?

"He's been so miserable since you broke things off. Don't get me wrong, he understands it and he'd never say a bad thing about you. Now, you and I both know that he doesn't understand dick about this, not really, but whatever your reasons, I've always refused to fight you on them."

Merlin snorted. "Every other word out of your mouth has been some admonishment about my not telling him, what are you on about?"

"Well, I kept hanging out with you, didn't I? And seeing as you're the one responsible for my dearest brother's heart being stomped on, I'd say I've been pretty forgiving."

That gave him perspective. In Pendragon world, that wasn't just forgiving: Morgana had basically granted Merlin sainthood.

"Point taken. So what's this you'd like me to do about Arthur?"

Morgana's eyes met his, and her steely resolve was back in business.

"Tell him."

***

_Six weeks later._

Merlin had a couple of days's worth of wandering around with no obligations. He'd worked overtime on paperwork, and with Freya out of town, he wasn't much use showing up at Camelot Cares just to stare at the phone and drink bad coffee as he waited for new clients to pop up out of nowhere.

Freya was visiting with her estranged relatives. Thus far, she was still Merlin's sole client, his so-called 'trial run', and he hoped he'd done right by allowing her to go back to the place where her trauma began. 

After a couple of his "educated guesses" (Merlin wasn't about to scare her away with the secretly psychic spiel), Freya had begun to cautiously open up to him. Most of the time they just talked about things they liked, things that soothed them. Finding common ground was essential with traumatised clients, and he and Freya had surprisingly many shared interests.

She'd confided in him that he was the first person who didn't treat her like a halfwit child, and he could see that. Many a disillusioned case worker would take one look at the fragile woman with the big eyes and shy manner of speech and assume she was a teenager.

To Merlin, she was a woman whose crap childhood had logically stunted her, but a woman nevertheless. And it made their sessions discussing her tragic past less crippling for the both of them: Freya because she was talking to an equal, Merlin because he'd gained a client's trust by just being who he was.

It was a few weeks later that Freya had come to Merlin with the suggestion. Her family had been asking after her for years, and she'd always shunned their calls and letters. But she had come to the decision that she'd made her own situation worse by avoiding the inevitable. She needed to see them and tell them what they'd done.

Merlin hadn't become a social worker just to sit flat on his arse and let his clients hide themselves away from tough spots and confrontation. Knowing her as he did now, he trusted Freya to get in touch with him if the strain got too much. As far as avoidance went, he'd lucked out with Freya: if she wasn't going to text or call you, she'd tell it to you bluntly.

If he got so much as one frantic text, he'd be on the next train to haul her back here himself.

But so far, so good. He still hadn't decided what to do about Arthur and had been studiously avoiding Morgana for weeks now; a crime for which he'd no doubt probably pay dearly once she got a hold of him. For all his encouragement of Freya going out there and confronting her past, he sure wasn't living up to his own standards.

Though, he rationalised to himself, wasn't that why people became therapists in the first place? To get others to make the changes in their lives they themselves are too chicken shit to make? If that was the case, 'Do as I say; not as I do' would be engraved on Merlin's tombstone one day. If his mates bothered to give him one, since he hadn't done much to deserve it.

Which did give Merlin an idea of what to do with his free time. Off he went to Gwen's bakery.

***

Gwen, much like Arthur, had been his closest companion after the accident. Difference being that she remained so.

There were no scary, unsettling memories plaguing Gwen, other than the things he'd already known about: Mum dying young, Dad crying about it at night while Gwen pretended not to hear, the constant worries of not making enough of herself and letting her Dad's sacrifices go to waste.

Only once was he taken aback by a medley of racist taunts - classmates, supposed friends, random people on the street. But even that had been something he was well aware Gwen dealt with on a daily basis. Mostly in theory. Seeing it up close had been truly miserable, but instead of scaring him away like it did with Arthur, it just made him likelier to sit in her shop and eye up potential Nazi dickheads looking to cause trouble.

She'd kicked him out for that, of course, seeing as the guy who sat there for hours on end glaring suspiciously at customers was not good for business. When he'd told her the reason, she'd punched him in the stomach and said she could look after herself, thank you very much, and what exactly was his pale, noodle-limbed self gonna do? But her eyes had done that gooey thing and he knew they were fine.

Gwen's little shop had been another surprise from her loving father. He used to teach her how to make iron jewelry and purchased the property as a graduation gift, in hopes of sneakily guiding her into the family business. 

When Gwen announced she was opening up a bakery, everyone was mind-blown, Tom included. Her mates expected her to become a liscenced therapist, after all, and Tom had expected a shop full of swords and jewelry; an odd choice, but it had been their thing. Well, no luck. Gwen wanted to work with her father for the sake of fun and bonding, not a career. And she wanted to put off getting her therapist's liscence until she was a little worldlier. 

So she had made the wise decision to spend her twenties working a job where she got to experience physical labour _and_ get to talk to customers on a daily basis. She wanted a chance to be out in the real world, see the city, and get to know and observe people in their day-to-day lives before going off to pry into their minds for a living. In addition to the bakery, she volunteered for a suicide hotline four nights out of the week.

Most people were still baffled, but to Merlin (and Tom, who was proud to see his girl go into any kind of business, family or no) it made perfect sense. Gwen's baking had always been glorious, and to use her hobby as a way to get to know people before embarking on a very serious career was just the kind of clever tactic he'd expected of her. She was going to be giving TED Talks by the time she was 50, and Merlin couldn't wait to be the beardy weirdie screaming at people that he knew this woman.

***

The dainty little bell rang and Merlin "Yoo-hoo"d loudly before making himself comfortable in his usual spot. Gwen always put the little 'table reserved' sign on it between 3 and 4, and only if Merlin showed up late did he have to find another place to sit or stand. What a mate.

He enjoyed seeing the number of customers in the shop. Much as he despised crowds, he did love seeing them in his best friend's place of work.

A shadow loomed over him. "Did you just actually falsetto yoo-hoo me?"

"Gwen!" Merlin grinned up at her brightly, putting a dent in her mask of disapproval. It was pretty weak to begin with. "Yes I did, you beaut. Wanted you to know it was me, didn't I."

She slumped and wiped a frustrated hand across her face. "Christ, and it actually worked. What am I like? Anyway, your order, go, I've got things to do."

"Slice of sticky toffee poundcake and an espresso, please. And take a break."

"Aye on the order, no can do on the break, toots. I leave at 5, and then you come home with me."

"You're the boss!"

After Merlin's failed spot-the-racist, protect-the-lady experiment, he and Gwen had come to an understanding: he could stay for as long as he liked, provided he order something every 30 minutes. This is where his love for Gwen, pastry and his lightspeed metabolism worked in perfect sync. His wallet, sadly, had to admit defeat a lot. But his work with Freya had sufficiently impressed the bosses, so the last few weeks had been good.

His diabetic coma was probably coming soon, so he made sure to also order a cheese scone now and then. Gwen said that wasn't how it worked, but what did she know, she only baked the blasted things.

At 5, they left Cakes One To Know One together and merrily galloped down the street to Gwen's flat. The galloping was a leftover inside joke from when they stayed up watching Miranda Hart specials, and it was a good way to shake off the day at that.

"Whoo boy, but am I glad I've finally managed to hire people I'm comfortable leaving in control of the shop," sighed Gwen, taking her shoes off in the hallway.

"That horse you hired to kick anyone who goes near the safe probably helped."

"The horse's name is _Percival_ , Merlin, and he is a beloved friend and asset to the community, so I'd prefer you addressed him respectfully."

Merlin snorted. "Still called him a horse, though, didn't ya."

Gwen threw herself across the sofa and grinned lazily. "So I did. Come snuggle with me and tell Uncle Gwen what's been going on with you. No need to ask about me, as you were basically there to witness all of it."

Merlin made himself comfortable next to Gwen, head on her shoulder and arm slung across her waist. "Well- Mm, you smell like ginger and cinnamon."

She pinched his tummy. "Out with it."

"You're kind of violent, Uncle Gwen. But I'll let it slide for now if you tell me what the fuck to do about Arthur."

Her groan reverbated through Merlin's whole body and it honestly felt kind of nice. Rumbly. Like a kindly dragon.

"Same as I told you the last 300 times you asked: tell him, you miserable weirdo. And stop avoiding Morgana. If she comes round to scare my customers one more time it's over, I'm bankrupt, I'm toast."

Merlin giggled into her neck and mumbled, "Toast. 's Funny cause you're a baker."

Gwen unceremoniously threw him across the sofa and clapped her hands together. "Right, time for a takeaway, you're useless to me like this. Indian?"

"Of _course_ Indian."

She rang up their order, knowing Merlin's by heart, and got back on the couch.

"While I have you all loopy and dumb-faced, let me tell you about Lancelot."

"Oooh, _Lancelot_. That's a big dick kind of name, that is."

"See, that's why I need loopy Merlin. He's the Morgana type of girlfriend I so badly need but without all the scary."

"Sounds a bit like a Gwaine compliment, that."

"Christ, so it did. Being the boss has turned me into a right gobshite, sorry love," she petted him gently on the head in a way that Gwaine never would, so he was fine with it. "Anyway, Lancelot..."

"Of the big dick."

"We can only pray, little buddy. He's been delivering the supplies for a while now and I think there's something there, but I'm hopeless about seeing it when it concerns a bloke I actually like. No amount of boss man attitude has given me the confidence to dabble in romance like a normal person, so I may very well die as alone as you one day."

"Rude."

"Just wanted to know if you were still with me. Anyway, I was thinking that if you insist on being all weirdo big brother vigilante for me, maybe focus less on the racism and more on the Lancism. Y'know. Feel him out for me?"

Her eyes got all big and pleading in that gross way that Merlin always said yes to.

"You'll tell me about the dick, though. When it works out."

"When have I not, Merlin?"

***

Today was the day. Merlin dug his spine out from under his dusty bed and made up his mind. He was going to see Arthur.

Freya was due back home tomorrow, so said her text last night (as well as a vague but reassuring "bad few days but rite choice, ta mate. x"), and Merlin couldn't let her come home to a coward.

He'd never bothered pretending he'd stopped loving Arthur, so he wasn't surprised at his efforts to groom himself into something as close to presentable as he'd ever been. Plus, to look good was to feel good, so even if he only landed on "will do", that was still fine.

That morning he'd finally sent Morgana a text (fully anticipating the wrath he'd face afterwards), telling her to get out of the flat because he was going to do it. Arthur had moved into Morgana's spacious apartment building after the breakup, and the fact that he was still there had more to do with Morgana's refusal to let go of him.

Merlin liked the thought that Arthur could always come home to the other person who loved him most, but he didn't want Morgana and her creepy bat-hearing hovering around while they had their serious talk.

By the time he made it to the building, he'd lost most of his confidence. _Do it for Freya_ , he thought, then corrected himself.

_Do it for him._

He pressed the buzzer, and there was Arthur's voice. "Who is this?"

"It's-" he cleared his throat. "It's Merlin."

Part of him had expected Arthur's patience and understanding to dwindle into something more miserable, or angry, even resentful. But he was buzzed in immediately.

When he came to Morgana and Arthur's floor, Arthur was already outside the flat, standing there barefoot and frowning like he hadn't expected Merlin to be the one to show up. Merlin cringed inwardly. Another way he'd fucked up the best man in the world.

"Merlin... This is unexpected."

Merlin had already assumed Morgana wouldn't make this easy for him, so he'd seen that one coming. He raised a meek hand in hello and his self-loathing deepened with the pathetic gesture.

The corners of Arthur's mouth twitched. God, but how he'd missed that face.

_Mustn't get sidetracked._

"Yeah, well, I was in the neighbourhood-" Cringe. "Fuck, no, Arthur, I wasn't. But I need to talk to you. _Have_ needed to talk to you for months."

Arthur stepped aside, nodding towards the door and allowing him inside. Merlin had never seen him so passive before, and he had to remind himself that he was here to fix things, not to dwell on all the ways he'd cocked up Arthur's life.

It was hard when the man himself sat across from him on the couch - quiet where he usually wasn't, tense where he shouldn't be, eyes doubtful and pained in ways they should never look.

"When I broke things off... Arthur, I wasn't being honest."

This turned out to be a bad place to start, because Arthur's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly and he looked down at his hands.

"So it _was_ me." And the sound of his voice was so final, like he'd just been sitting here all these months expecting confirmation, that Merlin jumped up from the couch.

"CHRIST! NO! Never!"

Realising that flailing and shouting at the man you loved, the man you'd devastated, was also not the way to go, Merlin sat back down. "Arthur, look at me. Please."

Arthur lifted his head, and he looked so exhausted that Merlin wanted to take him into his arms and not let go for a year, but he dreaded the brain zaps. And that, he decided, was what he needed to start talking about. Now.

"Arthur, I'm going to tell you something that's going to sound insane, but before you throw me out or decide you don't believe me, believe one thing: it was _never_ you."

Scoffing a little, Arthur looked back down. "Next you're gonna tell me this hurt you more than it did me."

"Not more," Merlin said evenly. "But just as much."

Arthur kept still, indicating that he was paying attention, so Merlin continued.

"After the accident, when I woke up, things happened to me that really, _truly_ terrified me. For a while I put it down to morphine dreams. But then they took me off the stuff. And then I got back home. And... nothing changed."

"What are you on about?"

Merlin took a deep breath. This was it. "Whenever someone touched me, or I touched someone else, I'd get this... memory. But it wasn't mine, it was theirs, and it was always bad. I mean it, Arthur: _always_. Like I temporarily absorbed someone's ultimate misery, their deepest-rooted traumas. And it hurt. So much."

Arthur stayed silent, then got up off the couch. "Go home, Merlin."

"I'm not lying to you. It didn't hurt physically, but it really, really fucked with my head. Still does. And never more than when I was with you."

"For Christ's sake, Merlin. If I'd known you were coming back just to tell me an even more absurd bunch of lies I'd have asked you never to come back, or at least take the time to feed me something believable, some other stupid thing I could cling to for as long as I needed to stay in denial."

"It's hard to wrap your head around, I get it, but it's true. It's why I had to distance myself from you. It hurt too much, Arthur, to see you hurting."

Arthur laughed incredulously. "And just what the fuck do you think you're doing to me now, then? Guess you got over the hurt pretty quick, cause I have to tell you, _this_... this might be the worst I've ever felt."

"I know it's not."

"Leave it out, Merlin," Arthur sighed. "You tried, and if what you tried was to make me hate you a little so that I might move on, who knows. Could work. But I'm not buying this, not ever, and I want you to get out before I ring security."

He'd tried, yes. And he knew it wouldn't be easy. Arthur was in pain and he wouldn't let him in like this. Merlin wouldn't have believed the story himself, in Arthur's stead. 

But he still wished he didn't have to do what he did next. In fact hated himself for it.

Just before leaving the flat, Merlin stilled. "When you were 5 years old, one night you asked your Father why you didn't have a Mummy like all the other kids. He was drunk and miserable, which you couldn't have known. But he'd already said it. " _You killed her._ " And no amount of adult logic ever quite kept that phrase from the forefront of your mind. That night, Arthur, was the worst you'd ever felt."

***

The next morning, Merlin had a good long cry in the showers. Today was Freya day, and he couldn't afford to show up at her place a miserable husk whose heart was crumbling to a fine dust. She relied on his full attention today.

_Think of what this girl has seen, think of what the woman she's become has done. Your problems are nothing right now, and you need to lock them away until you've helped this fantastic person who's come to rely on you so._

He repeated the mantra in his head until the tears dried and his head cleared.

Then he went out to face the music.

Much to his surprise, Freya was waiting for him on her doorstep, a tired smile on her face. She looked terrible and vibrant all the same: terrible in the way of someone who hasn't been sleeping but has definitely been crying, vibrant in the way that her posture was straighter and her tired eyes shone with a newfound confidence.

"Hi, Merlin. I've been standing here for 20 minutes."

"Oh God, Freya, am I late? I thought I had the alarm-"

Freya's laugh interrupted him. "No, you onion - I've _deliberately_ been standing _outside my house_ for 20 minutes."

Merlin gaped. He'd expected that after so many months as a shut-in, the trip to her parents's house would've left her unable to unlock her doors for a week: and he wouldn't have blamed her, or seen it as a setback. This...

"This is amazing! Freya, you... with the neighbours walking by and everything?"

Her laugh was so glorious, an excited jumble of nerves and delight, and she nodded. "Yup. Got so many frowns, and one kid even shouted 'What you lookin' at, lady?' and I just kept right on looking!"

Merlin couldn't help it, he swooped her up in a hug. When he put her down, she was laughing freely, but Merlin sensed the underlying hysteria waiting to take over. 

"Let's go inside now, okay? Lock the doors and have ourselves a cuppa, with you on the beanbag chair."

After they'd settled, Freya told him of her visit. Merlin knew what her parents had done to her. She'd been sold to a traveling circus when she was 9 years old, after one of the carnies spotted her practicing her ballet moves on her parents's front step.

Theirs was a neighbourhood so riddled with poverty and crime, the government had essentially left them to their own devices. Freya had 6 brothers and sisters, and admitted they sometimes ate grass or leaves to stay full.

After the carny had told the manager of the elegant girl in the worn-down house with all the dirty little children, _and wasn't that just such a shame_ , the manager had come knocking, and Freya's parents needed hardly any convincing, not even at the sight of their little girl's hands and feet being chained to stop her from kicking and running. It was truly unbelievable.

"I told them to their faces that I'd never forgive them, but I hoped to forget them, because I'm stronger now and sorting my life out. When they asked me why I'd come, I said it's so they wouldn't forget _me_. And then I left."

Merlin frowned. "But... Freya, you were gone a week!"

She blushed. "I felt like really hot shit for a moment, I guess. I was so proud. I decided to see what had become of my brothers and sisters."

Pushing aside the joyful sense of pride he felt, he asked her, "What did you find out?"

Her face fell, and Merlin could guess where her days had took the very bad turn.

"Two of them died, three went into a terrible care home after my parents were reported for neglect by a neighbour with a grudge, and the other's still presumed to be missing."

She took a deep breath and steeled herself. "One wanted nothing to do with me because I reminded her of a past she needs to forget. One went into the military and got so fucked up out there he now sits on the porch in a wheelchair all day, blanket where his legs should be, whiskey bottle in his hand. That was a really bad time all around, because he kept telling me 'I remember you. I missed you.' and I wanted to help him so bad, but with what resources? The four quid in my bank account?"

Merlin leaned in and spoke gently to her. "Sounds like you made his day pretty much by showing up the way you did. Might want to keep that in mind for future outings."

Freya wiped away a tear and nodded resolutely. "Oh, I'm doing that whenever I can."

"I'm so proud of you. The way you said that, just now? That determination? You're going to march on out of the house you've been so afraid to leave just to see that your brother's hanging in there."

"Seeing someone even worse off than you has a way of clearing certain things up."

Merlin knew a thing or two about that, for sure. Gently, he asked, "And your other sibling?"

She sighed. "The oldest tale of them all: prostitute and junkie, chicken or egg kind of thing. But she was scrappy, got real mouthy with me before realising I wasn't trying to reconcile her with our parents. She made me sad, but seeing how strong she was made me feel a little less afraid of her being out on the streets so late. Like there's street people who act tough, and those who are; my sister's tougher than nails. There's a lot of people out there who should be more scared of her than vice versa, I reckon. I'm making sure to see her, too, when I go see my brother. As for my other sister... I slipped my number into her mail slot, in case she ever changes her mind."

"So in the span of one week, you: left your house, broke up with your parents, tracked down all your siblings, and made sure to look after them. And you stood out on your step for 20 minutes just for the hell of it. How are you not in a coma?"

Freya laughed and wiped at her face. "Think I'm in for a crash pretty soon, if I'm honest."

"Then how about I get out and leave you to it. Provided you call me if the gravity of what you've been up to hits and gets to be too much?"

"I will do that. I promise. And... thanks. For encouraging me and not treating me like a girlchild."

Merlin laughed. "Sensed those inner panther claws first time we spoke, miss. Knew you'd be able to handle yourself."

***

Late at night, Merlin got a text from Morgana.

_thanks.xxx_

He breathed out a sigh of relief and clutched his phone to his chest. Another beep.

_still kill u later tho_

Another sigh of relief. Things were slotting into their right place.

***

Merlin was enjoying a quiet day in. He'd updated his file on Freya the night before with a proud, satisfied grin and just this morning he'd been informed of another case for him to work in a few days; a young boy named Mordred who had selective mutism.

It was bound to be a challenge: not just trying to get the boy to talk, but the fact that someone who was only 12 years old had apparently witnessed something traumatic enough to stop talking.

But if his time since the accident had taught Merlin anything, it was that challenges led to rewards big or small.

None more so than when there was a knock on the door and Merlin found Arthur standing in the hallway.

"Can I come in?"

Merlin ushered him in quickly. If Arthur had neglected the 'may I', things couldn't be great.

"So, that thing you said. The other night, before you left. I never told you that."

Merlin nodded. "I know."

Arthur paced around the room, unsure where to go in a flat where he'd once made himself comfortable wherever the fuck he wanted. Merlin swallowed.

"And I... Morgana's the only one who knows, and I may have gone a bit crazy on her? I kept accusing her over and over of telling you things you had no business knowing just so you could win me back with some bogus tale."

"I presume she didn't take that well."

"No, she didn't, but Morgana's stubborn enough to deny climate change in a debate and win. So I didn't buy it, not at first."

Merlin sat down, trying to hint that perhaps Arthur should do the same. "So what changed your mind?"

Arthur paced for a while, then stopped, looking around as if he wasn't quite sure how he'd got here. His eyes met Merlin's. "She said she didn't even want us back together. Said that even though you're her mate still, she wouldn't let you near me unless you had a proper reason and apology to offer."

"Sounds like her," smiled Merlin.

"That kind of did it for me. Well, that and the birth control story. I was there for that, and you weren't. She never would've told you in a million years; I've still got the bruises on my arm from when she swore me to secrecy."

Merlin looked down at his hands. "She was really angry at me for knowing. But she also realised how badly I wanted not to. As with most cases."

The couch dipped as Arthur finally sat down. "How much do you know, Merlin?"

His voice was so fragile, Merlin didn't want to answer. But he had to. He owed Arthur the whole truth.

"Everything," he whispered.

Arthur looked at him expectedly, so Merlin forced the words out.

"I know you crept into Morgana's room at night when you were feeling sad, and I know you slept on her floor until she got fed up and told you to get in. You'd go head-to-toe with her and push your foot in her face until you both started laughing and the pain went away, and you could sleep. This went on from age 8 to 10, and then your dad found out and started ranting about indecency."

Merlin swallowed and blinked against the tears, because this wasn't _his_ story, not really.

"I know you had trouble sleeping until you were 13. That you were once again sad every night, but this time there was no goofing off with Morgana to keep your mind off it. I know you started sleeping again after that because your dad found out you had a crush on a boy named Andrew, and he sent you away to boarding school and made sure you were put on a steady diet of sleeping pills so you and the boy you were rooming with wouldn't get up to 'anything funny', as he called it."

Arthur had gone completely still, jaw tense enough to crack teeth. Merlin forced himself to go on.

"I know you felt ashamed and dirty in addition to sad from that moment on. I know you decided not to give another thought to the possibility of you being gay until you were in uni. And even then you fought it. I know you'd got addicted to the sleeping pills because they kept you furher away from the self-loathing. A self-loathing that caused you to develop constant ulcers between 13 and 20. I know..."

Merlin had to take a minute for this. He rubbed absently at his chest and cleared his throat.

"I know you made the exception for me in your last year. That you'd decided I was worth it. And I know what I'd see if I touched you now."

Arthur got up from the couch and produced a pack of smokes from his pocket. Merlin frowned; he hadn't done that since their first year of uni.

Seemingly reading his mind, Arthur muttered, "Not a word." Merlin wasn't going to. He felt like upending a full bottle of whiskey right about now.

Taking a few, deep drags, blowing the smoke out of Merlin's window because even when he was on the verge of falling to pieces he was still so bloody considerate, Arthur turned his head and looked at Merlin.

"How are you still alive?"

Merlin frowned. "Well, it's not a tumour or anyth-"

"No, I mean... If this is the kind of shit you see with anyone you touch, how does it not make you throw yourself into the Thames and hope for the best?"

"I made a career out of it."

Arthur stilled.

"Don't worry, I'm not going around schools doing lectures on you. Don't lie, you were thinking something like it just now and it's fine. I'm a social worker. I find people's underlying traumas and do my best to steer them in the right direction."

"Jesus, Merlin," Arthur huffed out a laugh and threw his cigarette out the window. "Only you."

"I'd like to think most people would try and do something with this if they were forced to endure it for however long."

Arthur smiled wryly. "That's why I'm saying: only you. Most of us aren't built for that. We're weak and crippled by our own insecurities, let alone capable of taking on those of others. Nah, Merlin, I guarantee you most people in your unique situation would've taken a jolly waltz off a cliff after the first two weeks."

"Do you think it's pointless, then? What I'm doing?" It still mattered so much what Arthur thought of him, and he had no idea where this conversation was going.

"Not at all," said Arthur, once more taking his seat next to Merlin and looking at him the way he used to when Merlin went on an impassioned rant about some type of injustice. That admiring, proud look that would lead to either amazing sex or a night of Arthur going around introducing him as his boyfriend to so many people who couldn't give a _fuck_. Usually both.

"Just remembering how ridiculously bloody strong you are. Weird as fuck way to be reminded, though."

They chuckled a bit, the tension breaking.

"Arthur, I... wasn't lying when I said it was why I had to leave. I meant it about not being able to see you hurt like that."

"Yeah, I got that." Arthur peered into the glass of Merlin's coffee table as if the answers were hidden there.

"What if I told you, though?"

"What do you mean, told me what?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "What if I talked to you about these things, the ones that made me sad. And you could... do what you do at work and talk me through them, give me a different perspective. Support me in things I can't handle alone."

Merlin fidgeted. "Arthur, I don't quite think it's ethical for me to act as your therapist, given our history..."

"I'm not asking for a fucking therapist, Merlin. I'm asking for my boyfriend back."

"Oh." Merlin reached out to brush his fingers against Arthur's cheek, and Arthur leaned in, eyes closed.

_The most recent traumatic event in Arthur's life: their break-up, and all it entailed._

Arthur's eyes had opened the moment Merlin's hand stilled, and they were brimming with disappointment.

"Happened again, didn't it?"

For the first time since they'd been apart, Merlin smiled with all the hope, love and warmth he could muster.

"Maybe. But I'll be able to take it from now on."

 

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> I dislike triggery stuff for the sake of a compelling story so I'm mostly using allusions instead of detail; nevertheless, I feel compelled to include potential warnings in end notes.
> 
> Possible TWs:
> 
> \- verbal child abuse  
> \- parents selling their child to traveling circus  
> \- the after-effects of trauma (incl. severe anxiety, agoraphobia, alcoholism, drug abuse, prostitution)
> 
> Rated mature for these reasons.


End file.
